Solomon and Sheba
by Gray Glube
Summary: There's something between them, sacrilegious and sacred. AU. Collab with ohyellowbird.
1. Chapter 1

**Authors:** grayglube & ohyellowbird

**Title:** Solomon & Sheba

**Summary:** There's something between them, sacrilegious and sacred. AU. Collab with ohyellowbird.

**Rating:** M

**Warnings:** Sexual situations, consent issues, language, angst

**A/N:** So I submitted the warlock AU prompt over of FuckYeahAHSCoven and then decided I wanted to write one myself, and then I wanted to write one with a super cool wonderful author and ohyellowbird decided to jump on board. It is a lot of fun to write dudes interacting with other dudes. If I could subtitle this fic it'd be "Bad Touch and Death Pussy" like some strange super Villain couple.

* * *

Archie tosses a damp towel at him, "You coming tonight, roofie?"

"Could you stop fucking calling me that?"

His roommate laughs and pulls on pants, "Whatever man, use it or lose it."

"Ah, fuck off."

Dalton knocks once on the already open door, throws a pair of sneakers at Archie and takes off down the hall. Kyle flops onto his bed and pulls his business economic book from the bed sheets. Archie tosses his previously lost right sneaker on top of the page it's opened to.

He uses vague hand gestures to make his point.

"You could be banging the _hottest_ pussy at the party and you're not down with that?" his roommate takes a pause to pull on a shirt. "Are you gay? Should I be feeling uncomfortable right now? Should I be running away before you decide to make me suck your dick?"

"Don't know, maybe." Kyle tries to look menancing.

Archie points an accusatory finger, "That's fucked up." Kyle just raises a brow.

"Wonder if I could make you suck Dalton's dick."

"Are you coming?"

"It's too hot."

He'd have to wear long sleeves, a jacket.

"You're such a baby."

When Archie has his shoes on and is leaving the room Kyle takes a look at the textbook he doesn't really want to spend his night with and yells for his housemates to wait for him.

* * *

It might be because she's starved for contact, male contact, sharing a room with Madison has made her tetchy, irritated. The starlet doesn't seem to have a preference when it comes to having an orgasm, girl, boy, toy. They've shared a shower or two, each other's bed when they've snuck in a bottle of gin. It's nice but it's not the same as it was with Charlie.

The novelty of a girl is a sharp thrill, it feels forbidden and exciting and fun, with a boy it's different, fulfilling in a way she can't get anywhere else.

She doesn't know if it takes dick to set off the warning bells in her body, or if it just doesn't work on other witches.

Madison says just because she can't fuck doesn't mean she can't look, or touch above the belt.

* * *

She's never been to many parties.

It's like being dragged along into one of Madison's favorite Hollywood haunts and be able to afford nothing while everyone else shops around her.

He's hates parties. Too much skin on display and he's trying to keep his hands in his pockets to avoid the casual brush of fingers as he nudges his way down the hall to the keg.

It makes him want to go wait in the car, spend an hour outside on the back porch with an ashtray, pretending to smoke just so he doesn't have to hold up a wall inside.

* * *

Dalton and Archie nudge him awares, there's a movie star and her gal pal wing-woman sashaying and sauntering through the room, sorority girls flocking like hungry crows over carcass scraps.

Archie ribs him and tells him to go get the girl a drink, the movie star's bff, she's cute, pulling the hem of her dress when it creeps up her thighs.

They plied him with enough to drink to make it seem like a good idea.

He's hungry for affection.

He jostles the cups on his way over to her, she makes a joke about his superpower thirst identification abilities, and then smiles.

Asks how she knows he's not a date rapist, he can't help smiling a little too widely, nodding and drinking down a third of each.

He hands her one.

"Wait fifteen minutes, if I pass out take me to the hospital."

"Or kick the shit out of you."

"Please don't."

"So am I supposed to drink this, now? It has your cooties in it."

"Don't worry the strawberita and vodka covers up the taste of boy."

"Excellent. So is this your _frat_?" She waves her head around in a gesture denoting the raging party environment around them.

"Actually I'm over at Sebastian's, it's a prep school for reject boys."

The Hogwarts equivalent, at least.

"Are there lots of homoerotic group showers?" The smirk she gives him is the prettiest thing he's seen all night. Her legs are the sexiest. He grins.

"Oh yeah, totally. And actually this is a sorority house, guess it's not yours."

"Robichaux's home for delinquent girls."

"Are there pillow fights and spankings when you're bad?"

"Something like that."

She takes a sip as Madison Montgomery swings over her left shoulder, chin propped on her shoulder.

"You look like you're having fun."

"Uh-huh."

"Come on, let's go for a walk."

He doesn't get the pack mentality girl's get, it's strange. Groups of predators, hunting. Hungry lioness. Guys will leave each other in the dirt, let them get savaged, let them get eaten, snicker about it later. There's a duality that comes with it too, girls spoil each other's fun, and guys let you go have fun.

She smiles and turns her head as she's dragged away, shouting a promise that she'll be back. He gives a potent look down at the purse she's left behind by his feet. She pulls away from Madison and minces over with careful steps.

Her mouth slips over and sips from the curved wet line left over from his lip on the red solo cup as she puts her girly little bag on her shoulder. He's too buzzed to equate it with an indirect kiss. The kind that gets him into as much trouble as a direct one would. For a moment, between stupor and Dalton catching up to him in the hall he makes the connection.

* * *

Madison isn't really shy, she pees rapid quick while Zoe sips her drink steadily and fixes her hair in the mirror for want of something to do.

It hits, unexpected. Fever heat like low blood sugar and she really shouldn't drink on an empty stomach, but it passes and swells again as something with a pulse between her thighs. It's not entirely unexpected but it's strange and strong and nice, no tinge of anxiety because she might be rebuffed as it happens with Madison some nights, or because Charlie always manages to worm his way into whatever it is she's thinking about. Her dead boyfriend puts an end to any coming orgasm she's trying to give herself at night.

She breathes and leans against the sink.

"What's wrong with you?" Madison fixes and snaps the scanty little bit of lace she's wearing as panties in place.

"I'm horny."

"You wanna find a boy?"

Her new best friend is standing in front of her and then Madison's plush mouth presses against her sticky ones, she knows it's not the place for it. Too public, no lock on the door, Madison Montgomery is a movie star.

One who doesn't kiss girls so Zoe presses a hand against her chest and pushes. Madison smiles, "Is it just fucking or is sitting on someone's face out of the question too?"

"Stop it."

She leaves Madison behind.

Kyle is with his boys at the end of the hall, Madison slinks out of the bathroom behind her and moves hip over hip in their direction.

"I forgot your name." Madison says the brunette. Tall and slim, in the dark he could be Charlie. Charlie, Zoe's cunt seizes.

Kyle watches her walk up, says something but she can't hear, it's all just a throb, a twinge in her belly, she trips a little over her shoes. Madison laughs, could-be-Charlie steadies her, smiles wide and wolfish. Kyle stares at her, the last piece of frat furniture titters along with Madison.

"Zoe doesn't do heels well."

"Neither do I." They all laugh. His name is Archie, the other is Dalton.

She props up against the wall and finishes her drink, next to her she can smell cologne, a jeaned leg keeps pressing against the bare skin of her thigh, she presses back, could-be-Charlie smiles.

He leans down to ask her something.

Kyle's hand catches his shoulder, fingertips brush her naked shoulder, tingles spiral down, twist around her nipples.

She just wants to feel something on top of her, in her.

Archie's pulling back to say something to Kyle and she's reaching for his sleeve, Kyle's watching her fingers grip his friend's shirt but she doesn't notice.

The boy who she's got a grip on grins, asks her if she wants to go find someplace quiet. She wants to go somewhere and take off her dress and his pants.

"Zoe!"

It's Madison.

"What?" It's hard to pay attention when she's the one in the lead, dragging could-be-Charlie behind her down the hall, hunting for a room with bed, or maybe a piece of cushioned lawn furniture.

"Be safe!" Everyone laughs, everyone except Kyle.

* * *

He should have been more careful.

He should have paid attention.

"Is she going to be okay?"

Madison Montgomery stands on her tiptoes and he sways back, avoids every inch of skin she offers unconsciously, "Yeah, she's just trying to release some tension. Rebounding."

"Oh. Ex-boyfriend?" Dalton smirks, Madison gives something more sinister back, "Yeah, something like that. I need another drink."

Kyle feels sick.

Archie's not an idiot, he knows what goes on in everyone's head. He's persuasive but only because he knows what people want, their dirty secrets, girls love Archie.

But still, it doesn't feel right.

His magic doing the work for someone else.

* * *

She's kissing him before the door is closed, slipping the dress off her shoulder and telling him to touch her before they've gotten around to leaning against it, when he presses his hips in between her legs her mind blanks, her body moves.

He backs up to the bed and sits, hands on her thighs holding her up between his legs. He's looking up at her while his tongue flicks at a nipple. Hot and wet, cold suddenly when his mouth backs up and drops chapped kisses to her sternum.

There are hands working down her underwear, and his head dipping to follow with her fingers in his hair to help his descent.

This she can do. She's sure she can.

She did it to Charlie and things were fine.

He's grinning, whistling at her with a fist full of dress in each hand on her waist, staring at her bare cunt. "Come 'ere," she goes up on her toes and his tongue slips between her folds, probs slickly before nudging her clit with his nose.

There's a sound coming out of her she's never made before, broken and high, usually it's cut off by holding her breath late at night in her room.

She forgets why it is that she's alone now, in a new city, state, school, home, alcohol and magic convincing her that it's safe to be here, that she's never killed anyone, that the only thing that matters is feeling good, giving in to getting something inside of her that's more fulfilling than her fingers.

"Fuck, I want…I wanna fuck."

Archie pulls back with a damp kitten lick, his eyes in the dark pulling a thread, something ingrained in her that tells her he's not normal, none of them are.

Something probes around in her head, picking and pulling at every fantasy every whim every need and then she kicks off her shoes and pulls of his shirt, curls her legs around him, sweaty hands slipping on the metal bedframe.

"Knew you'd want to be on top."

"How?"

"I can read your mind. Your boyfriend was an idiot to break up with you, you're so hot."

"We didn't break up, he died. Help me."

Archie hears the last part, too hard to listen.

Charlie is forgotten then and Archie's pants are pulled down and his dick is in her hand, hot, weighty.

"I don't have anything."

"Don't worry."

She hasn't finished her little disk of pills yet, the habitual routine every morning that's too set-in to ignore.

His teeth are on her shoulder and he's in her and he groans, she grunts, gasps, lurches forward and back. His skin smells like boy and his arms are strong around her body, muscles tight and big and she feels like they can keep her safe.

He's big. He feels good.

Blood drips down his chin and onto her collar, she doesn't notice. His grip gets tighter, he jerks back and all she's paying attention to the temperature and pulse of his dick deep inside of her, counting heartbeats.

Somewhere in her mind it registers that he's dying, dead already maybe but her hand flat on his sweaty back, holding his chest tight to hers and her other so tight on the railing her knuckles hurt keep her moving, she just wants to feel good.

She hasn't felt this good since Charlie died.

Her toes are curled in the sheets and spread around the foot board and Archie's starting to slump, he's still hard.

Dying with an erection does that.

* * *

She's hasn't moved from her perch when Madison opens the door by throwing someone through it. She doesn't know what she looks like, but her eyes are heavy and for some reason she's licking at Charlie's bloody face.

"Zoe! Come on. Zoe! What did you do?"

Madison pulls her off and yanks her dress down over her legs to preserve some of her modesty. There's blood all over her chest.

"Shit! Shit! Archie!"

"We have to go! They're from Sebastian's Zoe, _we have to go_."

"Kyle! Archie's dead man."

"Dalton, stop"

"What did she do?"

Someone's yanking on Madison's arm and then pulling her away, there's a slap and Madison holding out her hand like it's some sort of lethal weapon, "Back the fuck up or I'll break your spine."

"Dalton, it was an accident." Kyle is holding back his friend, "Bullshit!"

"Get her out of here."

Madison does. The camera phones in some people's hands fly into the walls and shatter on their way out of the sorority house.

* * *

Fiona sits her down at the table, Cordelia pushes tea in her direction. Silently seething, over what happened or the presence of Fiona, Zoe doesn't know.

"Accidents happen, Zoe. The boy, Archie, was telepathic and he didn't pay attention enough to know what would happen, the other boy wasn't paying attention either. It's an unfortunate accident."

"He's dead." She answers looking at the chip in the teacup.

"No one is going to miss some asshole college kid in Ed Hardy. Madison shouldn't have let you go off with him by yourself, _you_ shouldn't have gone off with him by yourself. You'll both be locked in from now on, until you've learned some restraint."

"But…"

"Go."

"It will be alright Zoe."

Fiona snorts and lights a cigarette.

"Don't count chickens Delia, Cyril is an abominable asshole if you remember."

* * *

Madison is lying on her bed, the door locks behind her, loudly.

"Nice going."

Zoe throws her face into a pillow, "It wasn't…it wasn't like I wanted to kill him. I just, it was like I forgot that that was what would happen."

"The first time wasn't enough of a clue for you?"

Madison is vicious, she'll apologize later if Zoe ignores her enough and lets her stew in solitude. Zoe gets up and slams the bathroom door, she just wants to boil her shame in hot water for a while.

* * *

He's already sitting in the room when she walks in, Fiona and his head of school still in Cordelia's office.

"I'm sorry, I was drunk and I drank out of your cup and when you drank out of it my powers…I didn't mean to, I wasn't trying to do anything I just didn't think I could do it like that."

"Do what?"

"Make you feel like…like _that_."

"Must get you a lot of ass."

"It's not like that!"

"Kyle." His teacher looks like somebodies stately grandfather. Tall, imposing, old world and stern. Fiona stands behind him, rolls her eyes.

They make it seem simple, in the sitting room with the drapes drawn back and sugars being added to tea, civilized with an edge of terse tension settling into the chaise lounge and brilliantly white throw rug.

Fiona and Zoe, Cyril and him.

Everything is bright and sweet and pleasant, the conversation is turning towards vulgar thanks to Fiona, He watches Zoe twist a foot around and around at the ankle, it cracks again and again a nervous tick.

"Zoe wants to go forward from this, advance her gifts, master them. The advent of a gift like this before any other that may develop is difficult to handle, the first aptitude that presents is often the most dominant."

Cyril smiles, white as rugs, "Which is why you have such a lovely way with words I imagine."

"Guilty of the gift of gab, maybe."

"Things are getting dangerous again, we need each other as allies."

"Myrtle's been saying that since she turned Council head and you've never given her advice any credence before, why now?"

"I have been convinced. This unfortunate accident only solidifies it in my mind."

"One of my boys is dead."

"And another one caused this to happen."

"And has been properly reprimanded."

Kyle tries to keep from squirming as a bone in his little finger breaks, there's no sound but he coughs to hide a wince.

"What have you done to discipline your wards? Taken away their nail polish?"

Zoe wants to scowl.

Nothing's so simple as things being taken from her or pain, Fiona's taken privacy away from her, sat her down in the parlor and sifted every moment of intimacy and pain the past few months have left her with.

There's one thing she tried to shutter away, behind a locked door, cemented and made out of steel, Fiona tears through it like wet tissue paper, it just makes Fiona laugh.

'I'm going to kill you' a dangerous little thought.

"_Of course you want to. But that's the point, you're never going to do anything, to achieve a damn thing without something to be angry about, without something to hate, hate your gift, hate me, hate that boy, hate yourself, it's all just fuel. Without something to burn there's nothing to keep you warm or alive through any of this."_

And here they all are.

"I don't think Kyle is the best choice, there's a lot of risk. What if he dies?"

"I'm sure he can hold off a girl half his size."

"Archie couldn't."

"No, but he could read minds."

"If you're looking to help Zoe maybe you should consider a more adept practitioner."

"No." She says. it's going to be Kyle. That's what she's decided late at night in her room, as Madison sulks and she still seethes over the unfairness of her life.

"No?"

"I'd rather sew it up."

Fiona laughs, "Zoe please, you sound like Madison."

Cyril shrugs, "At least she's honest."

"Myrtle's seen to it that a witch skilled in resurgence will assist, if the need arise."

"So, is that all the discussion necessary?"

Kyle nods.

"Zoe?"

"Yes."

"Good, work it out amongst yourselves."

"So…"

She cuts him off, "We should try something indirect first."

"Like what?"

"I'll think of something." She lights one of Fiona's table cigarillos and blows smoke at him, puts it out in the tea cup he reaches for.

* * *

Their alone in a spare bedroom. She offers him a glass of water, "Drink it."

"I just watched you spit in it."

"Yeah, I swallowed yours. Remember?"

He shouldn't have felt a twinge in his dick at hearing her say 'swallowed'. But he does, it lasts and lasts, he can understand, he made her lose control of her body. It's some sort of betrayal to anything human to do that to another person. It was an accident.

He shouldn't be getting hard but he is and he drinks the proffered glass of liquid and saliva, he wants to say something scathing but her eyes widen and he feels the nosebleed trickle. He's expecting her to rush over, his head hurts, splitting, behind his eyes it feels like lit matches.

He hopes he might pass out. He doesn't it lasts and lasts.

"No one's going to come in, unless you die. Then, I'll go get Misty and she'll try to bring you back. Try to. You should try not to die."

* * *

**A/N:** Cyril and Saint Sebastian's Preparatory School for Boys are just little things I came up with, for the record I wrote Cyril picturing Dr. Arden from the season that never happened.


	2. Chapter 2

**Authors:** grayglube & ohyellowbird

**Title:** Solomon and Sheba

**Warning(s):** Language, Violence, Sexual Situations, Consent Issues

**A/N:** Kyle has schoolmates too, ohyellowbird made a fabulous graphic of them over on tumblr

* * *

"So how'd your potions midterm go yesterday?" Zoe's got her hand held out inches away from Kyle's bared forearm. They're both dressed like eskimos while the rest of the house sweats downstairs; Misty is snoozing slumped against the closed door in what can hardly be deemed a dress.

"Well I'm glad you asked, Hermione," he smirks; her eyeroll makes him smile. "It was fine."

They've been meeting twice a week for almost a month now. It would have been more, but Kyle complained that the headaches were interfering with his classes - Zoe doesn't take anything negative away from their sessions; she just masturbates more.

Even in gloves, Zoe's fingers curl anxiously in mid-air. She hasn't been able to touch him yet without having to be pulled off by Misty or Spalding, but then neither of them have made much progress. Kyle passed out last Tuesday after sharing a popsicle.

Today they've got an idea. A roll of saran wrap sits idly on the nightstand. It's a struggle getting it wrapped around his forearm by himself, but after a split fingertip and a string of curse words, they're ready for Zoe to de-glove.

She does so with her teeth and Kyle watches, lowering his eyes when she catches him staring and grins. "I'm surprised after the cherry popsicle," she starts and he remembers her mouth, bright red and slick with artificial flavoring.

Kyle laughs, shakes the sight. "Can you blame me?"

"Not really, no." A black polyester glove that will never see snow hits the hardwood. Everything gets quiet, quiet enough that Misty calls out from the other side of the door.

"We're fine," Zoe calls back, watching Kyle. He looks scared. It's the same look he gets when he has to touch her, just before the headaches start.

What they're doing isn't easy. She's trying hard to stay angry, every time, every touch, trying to not get lost in the feeling that starts between her legs, tries to give something equally dangerous back. But it takes concentration and willpower she loses somewhere along with her clothes sometimes.

Kyle's talking to her, his mouth moving in a steady stream of babble meant to soothe, but Zoe doesn't give a fuck about his words. She watches his mouth - fuck, it's pretty - and from there it's a steep descent from adam's apple to the zippered fly of his prep boy khakis.

"What are you doing?"

She comes back to herself and her own bare fingers that haven't touched him yet.

"Just, shut up. Stop talking." It sounds bitchier than she is, more Madison than her. She leashes his wrist hard, jerks his arm out and lets go to snag sweaty fingertips on the sticky saran-wrap.

She looks down at the shape of his dick against his pants again.

"How does it make you feel, when it happens?"

His breathing halts. His face pinches into something a little bit ugly, "I don't know, how does it feel when you almost kill me?"

"Don't be dramatic," she snaps, she doesn't mean to. It's the situation, it's him being a boy, it's her not wanting to do anything with any boy ever again but needing to because the alternative is hiding out, alone.

A life of celibacy and a bedroom that's just about a convent cell. A life avoiding and averting her eyes from kissing couples, futile fantasies and friendship instead of boyfriends.

"Then stop staring at my dick."

She drops her hand, clenches a fist against her leg, fumes silently.

"Sorry, I don't know why I said that."

She doesn't either, he's a guy and guys can be dicks. It's easy to stick a pinned label on his lapel, he's acting like a dick and it gives her license to be a bitch. A little bit, at least.

"It makes me feel like I'm in control, because you haven't died yet. Because I'm not on top of some guy I've known for only ten seconds at some party."

"I'm sorry. It was an _accident_."

Zoe pulls off her other glove, each extra layer, with growing anger until she's stripped down to the thin t-shirt and jeans she put on when she got up in the morning, the hair elastic on her wrist snaps while she's twisting her hair up, "Fuck!"

She holds in the rough, ragged feeling of a scream she'd only ever let out into her pillow, stomps a foot, pressing the heel of her hand to her head, "I know it was a freaking accident! What is that supposed to do? Make me feel better?"

"I don't know what you want me to say."

He looks like he doesn't care, doesn't know what's going on maybe.

She's talking too loud, too fast, her heartbeat hysterical and she's trying to handle things, keep it controlled, feelings, thoughts, the self-immolating urge to reach out and touch him, bare-handed, red-handed just to _feel _things.

It's not fair, her 'gift'. It's not fair, Charlie. It's not fair, _this_.

"We can't do it like this anymore, it's not working. It's too hot and playing with popsicles is not going to get either of us anywhere."

He blanches, "But, that means we'd really be touching and…-"

It's nice  
to get a horrified reaction, she goes too far he dies and Misty brings him back, he goes too far and he sees things about her that she's not sure she just wants to give away like it means nothing, for the sake of practice and control. It feels dirty, somehow. Not as meaningful as intimacy should be.

"I know what it means and I'll figure it out."

* * *

"Do you have to bring that thing everywhere?" Paulie sighs, watching Squirrel break off the crispy ends of fries and feed them to the bearded dragon cuddled inside the pouch pocket of his sweatshirt.

Squirrel doesn't even look up, just nods and says matter-of-factly, "yes, he's my best friend."

The whole gang is lazed outside a diner just a few blocks from school. Dalton's been fucking one of the waitresses on the semi-regular; they get free drinks when she's on the clock.

Kyle spins the salt shaker on its edge, watches it catch the light and lose it again.

Peter beans him with a cheese chunk from his cobb salad. "How about you stop daydreaming about vagina dentata and join the fucking conversation."

Kyle wipes his eyes, brushes the cheddar cube off the table onto the ground. "What are we talking about?"

"Whether or not we could get Paulie laid wearing that thing." The epilepsy helmet Cyril insists he wear for twenty-four hours after a seizure as a precaution.

After a glance, Kyle shrugs. "I dunno." He bends out of his chair to retrieve the cheese at Squirrel's prodding and drops it into his palm. Milk products probably aren't good for lizards but whatever, Squirrel would know.

Paulie pulls the drawstrings tight on his jacket, cinching his hood closed to cover most of his stupid fucking helmet.

The waitress brings them another round of drinks.

A little later, Peter nods towards the empty sidewalk at the approaching slap, slap, slap of expensive, hard soles on cement. "Ten minutes late and he didn't even bring Starbucks."

Dalton slings his book bag into Peter's leg before sitting down, "fuck you," and pushes sunglasses up over his eyes to pin back his hair. "It's too bright, why aren't we sitting inside?"

"Do you want to run back home to get your parasol, Morticia?" Peter snarks, flopping his chin onto his palm and pushing a tomato off his plate with his fork, it rolls off down between the tables and is smushed into a juicy pulp by a careless waiter.

"Wednesday darling, play with your food a little more." Dalton's sunglasses find their way back over his eyes, he leans back and tries to pass off a look of stony indifference to people watch.

Paulie blows a straw wrapper at him, "Can you two not fag out right now? I feel like shit."

"Sorry, Lurch." Peter smiles.

Squirrel laughs, a burst of unexpected noise as he digs through his messenger bag.

"Whatcha got there boy?" Dalton asks leaning forward, sunglasses pulled up again, a prop to enhance the dramatic nature of what he's saying.

"Found it."

Paulie's head rockets forward towards the table from the slap Squirrel gives the back of it after pulling his hood down.

"Dude! What the fuck? Ow, shit man! Why'd you do that?"

"There was a sticker in the Frosted Flakes box. I found it this morning."

Sure enough, when Kyle leans back on his chair legs, Tony the Tiger is proclaiming "IT'S GREAT" on the back of Paulie's seizure helmet.

The table erupts. Paulie scowls, his neck flushing red.

Squirrel feeds his lizard.

Just as composure comes back to each boy, a moan sounds. Female at first and then an answering male, Kyle startles and almost looks under the table, grabs his phone to make sure he hasn't left pornography open in a tab.

Peter just looks down at his own phone, and sends off a text message.

"Dude," Paulie starts.

Peter looks unphased, "What?"

"We're in public."

"So what? I can't text while I drive, or in the movies, now I can't while I'm eating lunch?"

Dalton pulls a face, not that he has any right. His ringtone isa Nickelback song.

"This sucks," Paulie grumbles.

Kyle sighs, "What does?"

"Archie's not here."

The mood changes rapidly, Kyle no longer wants to be sitting at the table. Across the pastry tray he and Dalton share a look.

Peter catches it and prods Dalton with a fork, "What did happen when you two and Archie went out?"

"I wonder if he'll be reborn as an Evergreen," Squirrel ponders out loud.

Dalton scowls, he's been nursing a bruised ego since Madison Montgomery threw him into a wall. Archie was his best friend.

Paulie cuts in just as Dalton's jaw starts to tighten, "What's she like? The girl? Is she, like, hot?"

"She's a girl," Kyle shrugs.

"You _know _what I mean." Paulie says.

"Archie fucked her," Peter points out. "Never saw Archie try to fuck an ugly girl, so she must be a hot little piece."

"She's lucky she still has a face," Dalton hisses, sunglasses down. He lights a cigarette.

"Are you jealous, Dalton? Girl fucked Archie, now she's fucking Kyle, and you get nothing? Everybody but you, right? Boo hoo."

Peter's lemon meringue bubbles and erupts, his cobb salab rains down like confetti on New Year's.

Dalton rises, slowly his head declines to look at Peter from over the top of his sunglasses, "Sure you're not jealous?" He blows smoke in his face and raises an eyebrow.

"Guys! I asked a fucking question!" Conversation ceases for a moment to look at a clearly irritated Paulie with fists on the tabletop, "So is she hot like dirty librarian hot or like ass twerking Miley Cyrus hot?"

Dalton makes a sound of disgust and grabs his bag, tosses cash down at the table, "Fuck this."

As he strides off in a huff Peter asks loudly if he's going shopping for more shoes.

A raised middle finger lifts up over Dalton's head.

"She's angry." Squirrel answers, "and sad."

"Wait, what? Who?" Paulie is instantly thrown through a loop.

"Zoe."

"The girl?"

"Squirrel stop it." Kyle says. Peter looks all ears across the table.

"What?" Squirrel's got fingers on Kyle's unused soup spoon, thinking it was his. He's picking up all the residual of what's left after the meeting with Zoe, all the things he can't stop hearing her say.

The meal is tense and Kyle stays because he's afraid of what Squirrel might say to Peter and Paulie in his absence about Zoe if he's not around to curtail what comes out of the other boy's mouth.

* * *

Madison is sitting between their beds with a blood pressure cuff pumped up on her arm, her eyes flit up to Zoe, Madison pulls one ear of the stethoscope out, "Close the door. I can't hear with all the noise outside."

She closes it with hands reached out behind her, leans back to click it closed.

"I need a favor." She enunciates the word 'favor' tentatively and drawn out with extra vowels. Madison's eyes widen while her mouth tightens severely, she huffs and Zoe knows she can't hear the thumps of her blood pressure if someone is talking.

"You want me to do that? My mom was, is a nurse. I know how."

"Sure."

She pulls the cuff off Madison's right arm with a Velcro crackle and wraps it around the other, they share the stethoscope like a pair of headphones and a top forty song.

"What's the favor?"

Zoe hums while she pumps on the bulb, "It's about my lessons with Kyle."

"You mean the seven minutes in heaven game you two play together?"

"It's not like that."

"Shit, how high are you pumping me up?"

"Two-twenty. Don't worry."

She turns open the valve and air comes out, the first thump sounds, then the second. She unwraps the cuff, rolling it into a manageable size, "One-twelve over seventy-eight."

Madison gets up off the floor to put it away, standing up and leaning against her bureau she looks back down to Zoe before moving to sit at her vanity.

"So, what's the favor?"

"I want you to be my safety net, like Misty is in case I kill Kyle. You're there in case I can't handle what he does."

"What would I have to do?"

Zoe shrugs, slouches her socks down to her ankles and taps her feet on the floor, "Helping me ride it out, I guess."

Madison knows what she means, it takes a few dragged out moment's of the words hanging in the air but, she gets it, "I thought you were supposed to stop if you got too hot and bothered."

When she looks up Madison is brushing her hair and staring at herself in the three-fold mirror, having the conversation with the different angles of her reflection.

"The whole thing won't work at all if I need to leave five minutes in, we need to be…in contact long enough for us to learn how it works."

Madison smirks and puts her brush down, fluffing her hair over her shoulders and pressing out her lips to the image in the mirror, she turns on the little bench and speaks over her shoulder, "This is a weird way to ask for a threesome."

"That's not what I'm asking for."

Madison just smirks again and rolls her eyes, hitting her mark.

"Listen, I like what we have going. It's nice, a little non judgemental, no strings pseudo-lesbionic stress relief, but I don't know. He's a guy, guys want to watch, normally I'd get paid for that sort of thing."

Zoe doesn't want to beg Madison, doesn't want to owe _her _any more favors but she puts on Bambi eyes, feeling a little teary without having to fake it and adds softly, "We could figure something out."

Madison lights a cigarette and gazes off at some camera that isn't there, looks back at her with a tongue rolling across her teeth with the smoke, "Yeah. We could figure something out, right?"

Zoe smiles despite herself.

Madison rolls her eyes and grins wide and white, "Don't get all muff muncher on me. I don't want you to go all bunny boiler on me because I'm not down with being your girlfriend, I'll help but I may want a favor in return."

"What?"

"I don't know, I haven't decided yet."

Madison and her paint their nails while hashing out the details.

"Fucking - really? Who put their dick in the jello?"

* * *

The disciples of the dark arts, Peter and Paulie, are sitting at the kitchen table watching Kyle scoop out lumps of translucent green into the trash. Neither of them have goo stuck between the teeth of their zippers, not that it rules them out. Especially not Paulie. It isn't the first time a food item has been violated. Living at Sebastian's is like being trapped inside American Pie, but with wizards and shit.

Paulie gets up. "Shit, dude. I think that was Dalton's bio project," and sure enough, there are bits in the jello; it's supposed to be a plant cell model.

"That's what he gets for taking weekend classes at the _community_ college," Peter drawls around a cigarette, dealing out cards.

Kyle dumps the entire ceramic bowl into the garbage and goes to his room, pointedly ignoring how Peter's dealt him in.

Later there's a knock at his door. When Kyle doesn't answer, flopped out over his bed with a cold washcloth covering half of his face, there's a pull on the tied bow of his sleep pants.

"You know if you keep hanging out at Robichaux's all the time, they'll try to recruit you? Did you already grow a vagina?"

Kyle slaps the hand away, knuckles brush against his thigh for a spare moment. He can't tell if it's premeditated or not, it's hard to tell with Peter. He's the way guys act with girls, playful and dangerous, just with other guys. It's unnerving. He's not used to having the reversal thrown back on him. "Why, you wanna check?"

"I'm actually a licensed gynecologist."

The washcloth pulls off his eyes, Peter's hand, not his, dragging it. Kyle takes it the rest of the way and drops it over the edge of the bed, sitting up and retying his pants,"Did they give you an honorary degree for your astute understanding and tireless study of the female reproductive system?"

Peter scowls, "There's no reason to act like a fucking asshole, _roofie_."

"Don't call me that."

"Why not? It's what happened when you went out with Archie and Dalton. Archie's dead now and you're playing Gambit and Rogue with that witch bitch."

"And it's my fault it happened."

Peter sighs and shakes his head, there's a smile there. Small and sarcastic. "So what are you doing messing with Miss Poison Pussy, then?"

Kyle gets up off the bed, shuffles over to the desk to move papers around and seem active. He feels uncomfortable talking to Peter when the game he's playing is twenty-questions, "I want to be able to touch a girl, I want to touch a girl and have her want it."

Peter doesn't look as if he cares or understands the weight of what he's saying, there's an eye roll from the other boy and then, "Well...you already have that."

Slowly, Kyle makes sure that his words are clear and properly enunciated, "I want to be able to touch a girl and have her not want me, too."

"I get that."

"Then why are we still having this conversation?"

Because Peter may get it, understand it, but obviously does not agree with it. Kyle has certain hang-ups, according to Peter, when it comes to enjoying life.

"I guess, I just _don't _get why it's her you're playing kiss-kiss-slap with, that's all. Because she could kill you."

Peter sits on his bed, that makes Kyle uncomfortable too.

"Because she wants to be able to touch guys and not kill them, it kind of just works out this way.

In truth Kyle doesn't really get it either, why she and him are playing doctor for the sake of getting better at what they didn't know they could do until the shit hit the fan, a dead boyfriend for her and the consequences of unintentional touch that chased him away from home.

Peter shakes his head, like the condescending power parent of a toddler caught in a lie, "You wanted to fuck her and Archie got there first, you just dodged the bullet."

Kyle is off the desk, fists clenched, "No! That's not what happened."

"Okay!" Peter yells back loudly to emphasize Kyle's own sudden outrage, how ridiculous it sounded, "Relax. Fine, I get it. It was an accident, right?"

"Get the fuck out."

There's only so much of Peter he can take. Peter gets up, walks to the door, moving backwards slowly, "Alright, alright. Just...calm the fuck down. 'Accident', right?"

"Get out!"

Peter's in the doorframe, leaning towards him, "I'd fuck her, if I fucked girls."

He's about to push him out into the hall and slam the door in his face but a foot in the threshold stops the door, "Wait! I'm sorry, I came in here to tell you something."

"Move your foot or I'll break it in the door."

"Paulie's seizure this morning, while you were out with your girlfriend..."

"What about it?"

"Guess what his aura was?"

"My embarrassing demise?"

"No. Archie."

"Archie's dead."

"Then why haven't we been to the funeral?"

Kyle deflates, "No one said anything."

"Well we're having a meeting downstairs in ten minutes about it, if you feel like joining us. If Cyril even wants you there."

"Why wouldn't Cyril want me there?"

"Because Supreme Goode doesn't know yet and you're pretty much boning one of her protegés, come to think of it I'm pretty sure Cyril said not to tell you. Oops."

"Why are you then?"

Peter's mouth slips into a slow, sweet smile. "Because Goldilocks, you're my favorite."

* * *

Kyle's color scheme doesn't fit with Robichaux's. His starchy blues and tans interrupt the monochrome; Zoe wears all black. It feels appropriate, her mood is dour and gloomy. He's the golden boy. Whenever he's led in by Spalding there's a gallery of crowing girls perched on upstairs bannister, Nan smiles, Queenie harrumphs in fake indignation while making some crude comment about being able to snap his 'skinny, fine ass' in half, Madison studies him closer now that she's agreed to be a part of the extracurriculars.

They wait at the top of the stairs for him and her to make their way to a spare bedroom. Not today. She takes him to a parlor and slides the doors shut, she can hear Cordelia shooing everyone else off to more productive activities. Evening Sabbath or something.

He's looking at the oil paintings, portraits of women she doesn't know the names of yet. Supremes. All of them. Generations of them. The modest sized ones who never did anything particularly interesting, the life sized ones of Supremes that had egos larger than the scope of their powers. Fiona's will probably be a mural one day.

He starts first, turning around and making eye contact she wasn't prepared for, "I've been thinking about what you said and, uh…, there's only one real way to do this the way you want to."

She nods, glad he's not some dumb frat boy, he's perceptive at least. She swallows and moistened her lips, "Yeah, there needs to be another person in the room."

"Misty."

"When it's my turn it can be Misty but otherwise I want it to be Madison."

He's thrown for a moment, lost his footing in the conversation,"What?"

"Madison."

"I heard what you said, I just don't understand."

She studies a portrait on the wall so she doesn't have to keep eye contact, it's embarrassing considering what she's going to have to admit to, some well-kept secret between girls shared with a boy. It feels wrong, breaking an oath or something similar. "I don't know if it's because she's a girl or if it's because she's a witch but….it doesn't work on her the same way it does on you."

"You and her do _that_."

"Yeah, we've fooled around before."

"Are you gay?"

"No. I just can't...it's lonely, I'm lonely. Listen, she can be kind of a bitch so I just wanted to give you a head's up."

He looks like hes having a hard time, not quite completely past the part of the conversation where she's told him that her and Madison have given each other orgasms.

It's funny, she didn't think she could phase him that way but she obviously has. He regains composure and they talk.

About nothing important. When he leaves she walks him to the door. The girls are up on the stairs again, Cordelia is standing in the threshold of the kitchen. Cordelia gives her a nod and a small smile, acknowledgement, maybe a little bit of pride.

It makes her feel better, a little bit at least.

* * *

Sundays are reserved for chores. There's just no way Spaulding and Madame LaLaurie can keep the whole school clean; the albino henchmen Fiona employs must have a clause in their contract about menial labor and hiring outside of the coven would be dangerous.

The girls have traded their white button shirts and villainous black maxis for floral monstrosities previously buried in the back of Fiona's closet from decades past.

Queenie is wearing a bed sheet.

She crams open one of the upper windows to hail the girls out front on the lawn. The contents of a waste basket are dumped out into the bushes. "Are you joking? Somebody isn't flushing their tampons? We live in the twenty-first century, bitches."

Madison wields her tree trimmers, shields her eyes with one hand to glare. "Yeah, Stay Puft, we do. But the fucking house we're living in is old as shit. It'll clog the pipes."

"Yeah, well - then you're on bathroom duty next week. I don't need to see what's been plugging up that rust bucket you call a snatch." Queenie's leant halfway out the window. The pane slams down against her back.

Inside there's yelling - death threats probably - but it's muffled by the glass and the window's wedged shut. Madison puts her back to the house, cracking her knuckles.

Nobody makes to clean out the bushes.

Zoe is crouched on the porch picking weeds out of cracks. "I wonder if the boys at Sebastian's have to do this crap." She only stops pulling to swab at sweat with the back of her glove.

There isn't enough deodorant in the world.

* * *

**A/N:** ohyellowbird is one super cool chick, really she deserves a cool superhero nickname or something because without her I'd be treating Kyle awful and making Zoe way too bitchy.


	3. Chapter 3

**Authors**: grayglube & ohyellowbird

**Title**: Solomon and Sheba

**Summary**: There's something between them, sacrilegious and sacred.

**Rating**: M

**Warning**(**s):** language, violence, sexual situations, femslash, dubcon elements

* * *

Cyril sits like a king in his throne, Kyle notices that only because of the way the rest of them sit, rapt and at attention for the words to come. Cyril is like that, magnetic, in control, it's not as scary as it is awesome in it's scope.

Squirrel is sitting in the armchair in the corner, sunglasses on his face, Dalton's sunglasses. Squirrel having had a spliff and Cyril's no mid-evening intoxication rule lead to a comical interaction in the hall as Kyle had come down from his room.

Dalton had been steadfastly unsympathetic to Squirrel's plight, though Kyle knows it has more to do with the fact that his sunglasses are Tom Fords than anything else, until Squirrel told him that the replication Versailles wallpaper always talked about how nice Dalton's hair was to the tables in the foyer.

By the time Kyle's sat himself down by the hearth of the fire Cyril always sets up to counteract the heavy dose of air conditioning and Squirrel and Dalton are slipping in, it's obvious Dalton has caved under flattery.

Peter comes striding in with a sandwich - turkey with avo and sprouts, no mayo.

Paulie slides in on socks and disrupts Peter's bite of tomato and whole wheat, there's a scowl and a laugh and Paulie tumbles over the top of the sofa as if they're packed into the room for a Saturday night movie.

"We're all waiting for you to sit down, Peter."

Peter sits down.

"I'm not going to even pretend not to know that you all know about Kyle's arrangement with this girl."

Kyle feels five pairs of eyes, but stares toward the only ones that hold any significant weight.

"_Now_, you all know, wonderful. Mind your business about it. At some point there will be young ladies, or…" Cyril grimaces, "old ones, here. It's because of Kyle, or because we are finally at a point where both you all and myself and these young ladies and their older 'guides' can sit down civilly and try to work together. The council approves, I approve, Fiona Goode approves, you don't have a say, you do what _I_ say. You will do what I say or some old hag of a supreme witch will lop your balls off because she can or because you didn't notice she'd had her hair done. The current Supreme is touchy. There's not much I can do about that, I don't get to pick."

Out of his peripheral vision, Kyle can see that Peter's mouth is halfway open. Dalton works hard to appear apathetic.

"The girl I know you've all been discussing will be here, at some point, you leave her be. I should not have to tell you that. She walks in, it's Kyle's business, you don't even notice she's here. Fiona Goode comes in you kiss her hem because that's what she expects."

Something made of porcelain out in the hall shatters.

"There's going to be plenty of other guests, it has to do with Archie."

Dalton's up out of his chair. "What about Archie?" he asks in a tight voice that wobbles, but before the words are even out of Cyril's mouth, emotions begin skipping through him on shuffle. Shock, hope, anger, urgency.

"He's not dead, he also isn't in full control of his facilities. I was able to get him seen by a witch, not one of Goode's coven. She's eccentric, she'll be here to help Archie, she may want to say hello, you may say hello back, be civil, be polite. I expect you to behave like human beings and not animals just because there is someone with breasts walking around the house."

The boys, Squirrel and Paulie sporting twin expressions, turn to watch what happens next. Dalton bolts, scuffing the toe of one boot in the process, but he doesn't get far. As though his strings were yanked taught by some invisible puppet master, he folds into a heap feet from the door. Even the biting words of betrayal and hatred that froth behind closed lips fall away into silence.

Cyril taps at the arms of his chair in a wave of fingers, looking deliberately away from the boy on the rug. "You may go up and see him once I'm finished speaking."

Dalton seethes, but the flutter-flare of angry nostrils aside, his face is calm, smashed up against the carpeting as it is. A dog whose nose is being rubbed in it's own excrement. Peter looks as though he can't decide whether to be grudgingly impressed or smug.

Squirrel's attention bounces nervously from each party in the room. He melts further back into the couch, sunglasses tight against the sides of his face. Paulie gives the top of his head an awkward pat.

"This will take time, the results may not be spectacular, they may not be as restorative as we hope they will. What happens from this point regarding Archie is my decision based off of his, you have input. However, do not mistake that for final say."

Cyril allows Dalton enough control of his body to sit back down.

"You all came here to Sebastian's, the door is always open to leave, I make the decisions, I keep you as protected as I can. I protect you only as far as you_ let_ me. You go out and lose control and things happen that I may not be able to fix, things that change everything, things that change how far my protection goes."

"Fiona Goode is not a gentle Supreme, she does not like her witches put in situations like what happened." Cyril looks at him there's nothing in the expression, no anger, no disgust, nothing and it's a frightening as any other dangerous emotion Cyril expresses, "I thought you were a smart boy Kyle, obviously you have the awareness of cause and effect on the same level as a toddler." Kyle feels his spine burn, his stomach is acidic and roiling.

The older man doesn't break gaze, stares until Kyle feels like a toddler ready to break down.

"Dalton you said nothing, you _did_ nothing."

Cyril doesn't even look at the other boy with carpet burn red and raw on his cheek.

"Archie obviously proved himself to be so ill equipped for his gift that he failed to notice that where he was putting his penis was more trouble than it was worth. You walk out of that door into the world, amongst people who don't have your gifts and I expect that if you can't blend in than that you at least control yourselves enough to not be noticed. I am disappointed, I am angry."

There is a long moment of silence, broken by Peter chewing.

His sandwich disassembles with a spray of cold cuts all across his lap. Dalton has his eyes shut tight, trying to force some control into his actions, it's an accident. It attracts Cyril's full attention and a sharp glare, "Apparently, Dalton, you're not as smart as I thought you were or as _you _think you are."

There's an audible inhale and Dalton's eyes open suddenly, cold and hard. Peter scowls heavily in his direction but Dalton only looks at their headmaster. The rest of them try hard to not draw attention.

"Did you know that amongst you, Kyle and Archie and everything that occurred _none_ of you thought for one moment to extricate yourselves from that sorority house? You waited, you stayed, every moment risking exposure."

"I have to send _Peter _to collect you," the way Cyril says his name is not at all favorable. "I have to leave to sort out your mess?" His tone changes to something soft and quiet.

"Do you understand how surprised I was to find out that the only person involved who had enough foresight and awareness of the danger posed by being out in a crisis situation to destroy all the evidence was a movie starlet with a drug addiction who often times forgets to leave the house wearing underwear!" Kyle knows he isn't the only one who feels a bone break, Dalton winces too, briefly. "_She_ remembered, she got herself and the other girl out, with minimum fuss, reported back to Goode who was here, in this house, to tell _me_ before I was readily aware of the situation."

"Peter, you'll be drinking your food if you put that in your mouth. Paulie, it hasn't been twenty-four hours after your seizure, go put that helmet back on. Victor, go upstairs and sit with Archie, he's in the master guest, and take off Dalton's sunglasses, as if I have no sense of smell. Kyle go to bed, you have to be at Robichaux's in the morning. Bring flowers."

Peter snorts. "Are they dating now?"

"White and blue hyacinth for Mrs. Foxx. Fiona Goode would break your arm if you brought her flowers, she is not pleased with you. Try to avoid her. Peter, Paulie, go clean something. I know both of you have avoided chores in favor of cards every night this week."

The very walls breathe relief.

"Dalton, you stay."

Squirrel totters out of the room with an aborted little hand wave at Cyril and when he passes by where Dalton is perched at the edge of a cushion, he lifts the designer glasses off his eyes.

"Thanks," his mouth says without any sound as he's slipping the glasses down over Dalton's ears and pushing them back with his hair.

Peter breathes an amused laugh and drags Paulie out along with him. "C'mon, buddy. Let's go find that diaper for your melon." Then the three of them are gone.

Kyle doesn't move. He's reluctant to leave Dalton in Cyril's presence alone. They don't have the supplies for a proper splint.

He leaves anyway, though he does not sleep until he hears footsteps in the hall outside his room, until he hears the door next to his open, Dalton shut it behind him and Paulie's muffled voice asking what happened to his arm and why he's limping.

* * *

"Aren't you going to be warm in that?"

Zoe looks down herself, eyes the old taupe sweater and mid-rise denim jeans, the black polyester gloves on the end table that feel weird against her nails. "Probably, yeah."

Madison is belly down on her bed, skimming through a gossip magazine. Her face isn't on the cover, but there's a blurb about her inside. They're calling this place rehab, good. "Well?"

"What?"

She frowns and raises a limp hand towards Zoe. "Aren't you going to change?"

"No," Zoe says, pretending that Madison thinking she would want to impress Kyle is absurd.

"Why not?"

"I'm fine in this."

Madison rolls up so that she's sitting and closes the magazine. The purse at her hip rattles when she searches it. Her aim is good. "At least put some lip gloss on or something."

Zoe catches the plastic tube with one hand, twists open the cap with a wet slurp to inspect the color and shine. "Why?"

Downstairs Cordelia and Fiona are shouting across the kitchen.

Because he's a boy."

"So what?"

Madison scowls, bouncing up on the bed with her knees to move down to the foot board so she can make eye contact in the mirror, "There is no 'so what' when you are around a boy, or boys, you look nice, you look good, it puts you in the power position. It's how you show strength."

Zoe turns, "This isn't the animal kingdom, Madison."

"Of course it is, and we're the apex predator at the top of the food chain, but only as much as you let that be the case. You're lethal, babe. Maybe you should start acting like it."

"You're a nutcase."

But Zoe still lets Madison sit her down at the vanity and put lipstick on her.

* * *

Paulie is wolfing down frozen pizza alone in the kitchen when Kyle passes by the entryway. "You heading out?" he calls around a mouthful of supreme.

Kyle swings back into view. "Yeah."

"Really?"

"Yeah, why?"

They both trade strange looks. Paulie swallows and waves Kyle closer. "You look like you're going to laundromat instead of a house full of hot girls."

"..."

A crinkle of foil and the table is clean again except for Paulie's greasy fingerprints. "And sweatpants? Dude, that's rookie. Do you want her to see your wood and get scared away. You gotta be sweet with girls, gentle like."

"I'm not dating her, Paulie," Kyle says, his words sounding like an eye roll. He reminds himself of Peter.

Paulie presses on, "Still bro, it's about seduction. What you're doing with her, all this touchy stuff has got to make shit weird enough. Act like a slob and she'll want to suck your soul out, act too casual and she'll wonder what the fuck is wrong with her."

Kyle gives up and takes a seat. "And you're an expert with this sort of stuff?"

They both know he's full of shit, can count the number of girls he's fucked on his fingers, but maybe he's right, and more importantly, he isn't Peter or Dalton. Their advice is usually just hit it and quit it. "I've seen how things go enough to have a few observations. But if you don't want my advice, that's cool."

Squirrel walks by the entry and waves. Kyle watches him go; there's an uprooted plant in one of his hands that's leaving dirt all over the tile. Cyril is going to kill him.

His attention falls back to Paulie in halves. (Why isn't there more pizza?) "You're going to tell me anyway."

Paulie claps, sits up taller. "Yeah, awesome man. So, first: jeans, button down. Fix your hair, what are you homeless? Flowers for her old lady, or whatever...teacher lady. Prison warden. Go put on some cologne, ask her how she is, don't talk about sex, probably don't mention anything about how she looks unless she talks about it first, but look at her, not creepy, but subtle."

"It's not really her that I'm worried about."

It's her choice of third party. He hadn't wanted to push it but Misty would have been better, she would have thought nothing of it, that it wasn't strange. Madison Montgomery has no such illusions when it comes to perversity as far as tabloid cover stories go.

"What, you're worried about you? What for, you're golden, you'll do fine. Just relax. Take things slow and if and when you get to it remember to work the clit, lots of foreplay, otherwise you'll be going dry waterslide.

"Stop seriously, I'm not having sex with her. It's Madison Montgomery I'm worried about."

Paulie side eyes him, shakes his head and shurgs, "What, you got a hard-on for her?"

"No, she's just going to be there too."

"There at the house? She lives there. Duh."

"No, in the room. With me and her."

"What for?"Paulie suddenly seems much more invested with the conversation.

"Chaperone."

Peter appears at the top of the stairs inspecting his nails, "Which one of you needs the chaperone?"

Paulie scowls up at his smirk. "Not cool, Petey."

Kyle just pushes past him on the stairs, self-conscious now about things like clothes and hair and body odor.

* * *

Madison Montgomery greets him at the door, on the steps with a cigarette. She blows smoke out the side of her mouth and he scuffs a sneaker on the steps, stumbles a little and catches himself.

"Those weeds for her?"

"No, uh for your...whatever she is, headmistress?"

"Foxxy. Yeah. She's in the greenhouse so you can just give them to Spalding." She says leading him in. He doesn't know where he's supposed to go this time and Madison is already mounting the stairs. "On the table, dopey."

The room Madison takes him to is obviously not a room for guests, Zoe is sitting on the bed opening a drawer on the nightstand. The laundry basket filled with folded clothes and the other unmade bed is clue enough that it's their room he's been taken to.

Zoe closes the drawer she's been looking through, "Hi."

"Hi."

"Here," she hands him her iPod.

He twists the earbuds, feeling uneasy already. Cyril would probably be upset that he's letting himself be closed in by two other gifted people in a place he isn't familiar with, the uneasiness settles into light panic. They could kill him and there wouldn't be much for him to do about it, Madison moves behind him and he jumps away from the hand about to descend on his covered arm.

"Oh, come _on_. Relax."

He swallows and looks at Zoe, she offers no hint at what it is that they're going to be doing, or how.

"We figured it would be easier to do this if we remove all the distraction so we only have to focus on the thing we're working on."

"Okay, so…" he holds up the iPod, "No talking then, and what? We turn off the lights?"

"That's what we were going to do but then I wouldn't be able to see what's going on and that's the whole reason I'm here," Madison walks over to the closet and slides open the door,."And so, we thought this might work better."

"And I'm in there."

Zoe nods, "Yeah, and then you can keep your hand outside for me to hold and try to work out your side of things."

"Like seven minutes in heaven but solo," Madison smirks as he waits for her to push a mass of clothes to the other side of the closet.

He sits down and Madison sneers at him.

"What?" It comes out sounding harsher than he means.

"Splooge on my fur coat and I _will _disembowel you."

"Madison!"

"Oh, relax," both girls disappear as the closet door slides closed on him, "Drama queen," he catches as Madison moves away from the door.

He hears the floor creak as he unwinds the earbuds from the rectangle of warm metal in his hand, he's got one in his ear when fingers wave at him the open space, "Ready?"

And he isn't, he has no idea what to do once their touching skin to skin, he's ruminated on all the scenarios before but having it about to happen is frightening.

"Kyle?"

"Yeah, I'm ready."

He grabs her hand, palm to palm and fingers curling around the side. Focus is easier in the dark, he puts the other earbud in and presses shuffle, the shadows of clothing in front of him and dark brown fur of Madison's coat illuminated for a whisper of time before the only light is the stripe across his body and closet wall from the open space.

There's nothing, just the warmth of her fingers, a brief squeeze that does not continue draws his attention but not for more than a few moments, he listens to something orchestral, he's not sure if he enjoys it.

Zoe feels a bolt of something at the first feel of Kyle's hand around her own, but for the first few minutes it might be pure girl-likes-boy butterflies. After the nervous flex of fingers, that changes.

There's a word for it. Resonant and sharp and awful.

She braces for it like she would for taking a punch, every muscle in her body tensed and trying to think three moves ahead. Her jaw aches with the pressure she's put on her teeth.

He thinks about what he can do, tries to equate it with something material.

Madison hums something from the radio at her left.

Music. An instrument. Keys pulling strings. A puppet's control bar. His hand on hers.

In the next room over Queenie is moving around furniture, nailing up something artsy she got downtown last Saturday.

He feels it, the pull and tug on something he's strung up to.

Zoe lights up from the inside. Her eyes and her mouth go wide without sound before twisting into the very start of a crescendo. Madison's right up against her side in an instant, a voice in her ear, hands that aren't his on her arms. They kiss, and it's the wrong kind of medicine but Zoe still tilts for more.

The loose thread on a sweater plucked until it snags, another pull and it's freely unraveling.

The tongue against hers feel good, the gentle dig of fingernails on her skin focuses her but the phantom feeling and ache in every goosebump vibrates more intensely, awful and hot as it starts to focus on less general body parts and gets specific.

And as much as he's trying to wrap it back around the spindle it's uncoiling at equal pace.

It feels like it's winter in the room and she's without a bra, she can feel her pulse in both nipples, distinct raps and she presses harder into the line of Madison's body, wheezing out sounds she hopes are as easily deciphered as words.

Her hair is stuck to her mouth from the stick of gloss and maybe, she thinks, Madison should have tried talking her into something besides the pants she decided to wear.

She can't think of anything more than a litany of _off, off, off_.

And other less innocent words.

Her legs are sweaty inside the denim and they're worked down enough for Madison to slip a hand down against the soaked crotch of her underwear, she rubs against the bony protrusion of Madison's delicate wrist.

In the silence of a missing beat between changing songs he hears her and he can't quite find anything left to hold onto, a snapped bit of piano wire or a ball of yarn already knit into something.

There's a digit wiggling it's way past the elastic band around her thigh and into her body but it's not enough, it's not what she needs. She tries reaching out for what she needs, take it in and feel it inside of her skin but the only connection she has to it is trying to pull itself out of her grasp.

She's been at the other end pulling at the temptation of a loose string, he tries to let go of her hand but her fingers slip in the empty space between each of his.

There's another solid and warm finger slipping in next to the other, fucking her slowly and a mouth on her bare breast but they aren't grounding her, just making more of a mess of what's going on.

She tries to toss the hair off her face and only manages to displace sweat on her hairline, it rolls down towards her ear.

He knows that looking at her, like this is the last thing he should do, that it is in no way a benefit of their continued working relationship but from the gap in the closet door he can see her tossing her head and he can see the heave of her chest under the splay of Madison's long hair.

His eyes narrow in on her face and her own find his face, he means for the way he grips his hand to soothe, to relax, to impart on her that he's sorry and it will be alright but all it does is make her mouth fall open and her chest hold a breath while she breaks apart under an orgasm.

He lets go of her hand and tries to avoid touching her n his way out of the closet, he feels physically ill.

It's not anything to do with her anymore, just the unwanted memories brought to the surface like bloated corpses.

There's a tiny hand catching the hem of his jeans and Madison has to settle on top of her to keep her still. It escalates as he tugs free and gets to the door.

Zoe's up and Madison's trying hard not to grab hair along with the back of Zoe's shirt.

"Out!"

Madison at least understands.

Zoe still fights, he tries and fails to avoid looking at the flush on her bare chest and the dishevelment of her jeans, the way her eyes are glassy and her mouth looks bitten.

Her eyes fall shut when a hand cups her breast and another works it way down from around her waist to the inside of her pants.

The door opens on its own and Madison throws him out with a surge of power just a touch too violent. The door slams and he vomits on the floor runner on his way to the stairs.

Cordelia Foxx is at the bottom telling him not to worry about it, adding an ominous, "It's probably not the worst thing someone's had to wash out of the rug."

She asks one of the other girls who hovers in a doorway how Madison and Zoe are, it doesn't strike him as even particularly strange at the moment.

"They're…fine."

He decides that the pause and the way she answers is more out of general good manners and tact.

Cordelia hums and thanks him for the flowers. She tells him to thank Cyril for the sentiments.

When he leaves he looks back up at the windows - all the curtains are drawn - and he walks home feeling that progress is slow coming.


End file.
